Silver and Gold
by Nutter101
Summary: AU, Fem!Harry. A somewhat different take on the story we're so familiar with. A tale of love, loss, hope and despair; how love can flourish in the most unexpected of circumstances.
1. Belle

**Author's Note: Hello, everybody. Here's another fic. I realise I do have two on the go at the moment (the other being "Sightless Affection.") I'll be attempting to work on these two intermittently, as writer's block so frequently antagonises me; at which point more ideas pop into my head for other things, which is a bit of a nuisance, but there we are.**

 **This fic will have rather significant changes and I really hope it all works out ultimately... and that the day may arrive when I might finally finish it. We shall see. I tend to work best with a million different things going on... or maybe I'm imagining it. Who knows? I ramble and, as such, whole-heartedly apologise.**

 **Okay, moving on...**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Belle**

If one were to ask the residents of Privet Drive about the Dursleys they'd likely say the family were completely normal. Well, they were so unassuming, after all. There was nothing extraordinary about the businessman, housewife and the son they were so proud of who resided within the walls of Number Four.

Their niece, however, was a different matter entirely.

It wasn't often the residents saw the girl themselves, though when they had caught glimpses of her it was easy for them to consider the girl as somewhat strange. Of course, the fact that the senior Dursleys spoke of their niece in a certain manner would undoubtedly embed a particular perception in their own minds of the child. And why should Vernon and Petunia's claims about the girl prompt any of their neighbours to question their validity? They were highly respected in the community; there was no real reason to doubt them.

The girl in question was not what one might expect to have lived with the seemingly-perfect family. She looked sickly and was thin and pale. Her hair grew wildly out of her scalp in a tangled mass of black curls and her eyes, despite the pretty (one might consider) shade of green, lacked life. Her clothes were ill-fitting and were a far cry from what normal little girls wore; in fact, they were hand-me-downs from her cousin, Dudley, who was rather large. If questioned, the Dursleys would claim the girl was a tomboy, but that didn't excuse the fact that they were far too big for her stature.

The girl was ridiculed at school, and spent a great deal of time attempting to escape from her cousin and his group of friends, who frequently attacked her when none of the teachers were looking.

Their fellow classmates frequently saw it, of course, but after what had happened the first time, not one of them dared report the behaviour to a teacher again.

The last (and, indeed, only) time that happened, the parents of the bullying boys were all called to meetings with the Headteacher.

Some of the parents punished their boys, completely ashamed of their behaviour, while others condoned it and blamed the girl for provoking their sons.

The Dursleys reaction had been the most dangerous and, with Dudley having been suspended from school, along with his friends for such behaviour, the girl had wound up being punished. She had been kept home from school for a far longer duration than her cousin had been suspended.

For 'causing trouble,' as her Aunt and Uncle had deemed it, the girl had seen the buckle of her Uncle's belt, and locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, which had been her bedroom for as long as she could remember. She had scarcely been permitted to even use the toilet across the hallway, let alone consider the prospect of eating anything of substance. Even water was difficult to get.

She ended up with an infection following her punishment and had been hospitalised, a great inconvenience to her relatives. Precisely why they hadn't simply left her to rot in the cupboard was a mystery to her.

They had made a great many excuses for the medical staff to note, none of which even appeared remotely suspicious and the topic of her visible bruises and open wounds never prompted real questioning. They were clever that way.

Even when she was on the mend, though still with the infection, she was forced to go to school, regardless of the pain and delirium she had been experiencing. The teachers had wanted to send the sick girl home, but with being who she was, she declined. It would only make her family angry, though she could never tell anyone that. Some things were simply better left unsaid.

The sad green-eyed girl often experienced loneliness and one might have thought she'd have been used to it by now at the age of ten, almost eleven, but she hadn't. So long she had hoped for a friend; for someone to talk to.

There had once been a man dressed rather oddly - as though he were living during the reign of Queen Victoria - while she had been out shopping with her Aunt and cousin, who tipped his hat and bowed to her in a show of great respect. The girl herself had never understood the man's action, but it perhaps wasn't the best thing he could have done, as it angered her Aunt Petunia.

Her family were often angry with her. There was always some small insignificant thing one of them could find to be angry about and it was always her fault. She had resigned herself to that fact these days; that she was never blameless. In fact, she believed she deserved everything she got.

Strange things tended to happen around the girl as well, and that in itself was reason enough to lock the girl away.

As far as the Dursleys were concerned such 'freakishness' was deliberate and deserved punishment.

The girl herself never intended for things to happen; they just seemed to occur whenever she was around. She never really knew if she had been responsible for them, but took the blame regardless. It was likely her fault anyway.

The girl did cry a lot, but she never understood why. She couldn't recall people really taking notice of her in a state of upset, but, despite the Dursleys attempt to cease her 'sensitivity' and 'tantrums,' she did feel some relief from crying out her inner pain. Perhaps such relief could help her understand herself…

When it boiled down to it nobody really asked too many questions in the end; especially not about the girl. Privet Drive's real secrets were hidden behind the perfectly-manicured lawns and shining doorknockers.

* * *

"Up!" Petunia screeched, rapidly banging on the cupboard door. "Get up! Now!" With the sound of a latch clicking, the woman hit the door with her fist a final time before returning to the kitchen.

The girl inside slowly opened her eyes and took in her dark surroundings. She was still in the cupboard. Nobody had come for her yet. With a sad sigh, she readjusted herself into a sitting position; well, as best as she could for the sloped ceiling. Many times she'd hit her head on it; it was now second nature to duck under it.

Before she could even put on one sock, her cousin bounded down the stairs, stopping part-way to jump several times and cause dust and dirt to fall around her.

"Wake up, Potter!" he shouted, with excitement. "I'm going to the zoo!"

With a laugh, he continued to run down the stairs and, satisfied with his perfect timing, pushed the girl back into her cupboard, as she began to enter the hallway, and kicked the door shut.

The girl herself had landed on her wafer-thin mattress and hit her head on the wall from the force of being knocked down.

She tentatively got back to her feet and, hoping the coast was clear, opened the door and stepped into the carpeted hall, quietly closing the door behind her. She entered the kitchen where her Aunt immediately barked orders at her to cook the breakfast without burning anything.

The messy-haired child frequently cooked for her family. She'd like to have said she'd enjoyed it, but with the constant scrutiny and fear of what could happen if her attempts weren't to their standards, she didn't get much enjoyment out of it.

She had burned their food many times before now; never on purpose, despite how they perceived it. Burnt food meant no food for the skinny girl.

Focusing her attention on the bacon in the frying pan, she heard her Aunt make a fuss over her cousin. It was his birthday today.

"I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day," she squealed, hands over her son's eyes, as though preparing for a big surprise.

"Hurry up," the large man demanded. "Bring my coffee, girl!"

They rarely called her by her real name and it was always a shock whenever anybody actually used it over the option of simply calling her 'girl.'

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," she said in a small voice, as she brought the coffee pot to the table, having moved the bacon from the frying pan to the plates.

"Aren't they wonderful, darling?" Aunt Petunia giggled, happily, having removed her hands from her son's eyes.

It seemed to the scrawny girl that her cousin had taken one glance at the huge pile of presents before asking just how many he'd received.

There were almost forty presents waiting for him and he wasted no time in complaining about how he got more the previous year, which was followed by his mother promising to buy him two more when they went out later in the day, which he agreed to.

This saddened the girl. She never knew what it meant to receive gifts. Surely there must have been a time when she had; when her parents were still alive perhaps. She was only a baby then - just fifteen months old when they died. Her relatives always claimed they were alcoholics who died in a car crash. It wasn't something the girl wanted to believe. She wanted to believe they were good people, but her Aunt and Uncle had wasted no time in telling her they'd died in such a manner and, surely, it was the truth. She couldn't really see them lying about it and hoped they weren't. If it really were the truth she'd rather live with the knowledge than to be told falsehoods of her parents' demise.

After the greedy boy had torn through the wrapping paper, and Vernon and Petunia had a debate about where the girl would go while they took Dudley and his friend to the zoo, it was decided that she would, indeed, have to go with them. There was no one to take care of her. Quite frankly, Vernon couldn't see _anybody_ ever wanting to take care of her. She was nothing but a thorn in his family's side. They'd never even been asked to take her - she was just there on the doorstep on a cold morning a decade ago. Were it not for Petunia discovering the bundle when she went to put the milk bottles out, they might have scarcely been aware of her existence until, perhaps, Vernon fell over her on his way to work that morning.

The one who abandoned her there that night had left a note for Petunia. From the contents of the note Petunia had to take the child in, regardless of how much she loathed her; perhaps more, even, than she despised her own sister, the girls mother.

There was never any real love between the woman and her niece. The girl had tried; of course she had. She was raised to be a people-pleaser, yet some people could simply never be pleased, and Petunia and her family fell into that majority.

The mere sight of the girl angered Petunia herself. From her untameable hair to her own mother's emerald eyes; the dirt that covered her head-to-toe to her mournful expression. The girl looked awful, plain, ugly Petunia often told herself. Precisely why her parents had called her Belle was a mystery. There was nothing beautiful in that face.

Belle Suzanne Potter. Petunia hated that name. '"Beautiful lily," my foot,' she often snarled, even internally. You see, Belle was a reminder of what she had lost long ago. Why was the brat alive and her sister had died? Even if Petunia liked to pretend she didn't have a sister at all, Lily was still her sister; nobody could take that fact away.

Refocusing on the present, Petunia sat at the table with her family, as the dark-haired child, who frankly had no place whatsoever in her house, carefully dished out the breakfast and placed the plates before the three people who, at least, had given her a roof over her head.

Belle herself went without breakfast, as she did most mornings. If she was on her best behaviour today, she may be allowed to eat later.

Belle was kicked through the front door by her cousin and his friend Piers, who had arrived a few moments earlier. The adults didn't see this, or if they did, certainly never commented. Ignorance was bliss, after all.

As the family piled into Vernon's lavish company car, the man pulled his niece aside and threatened her with the prospect of starvation if she decided to 'act up,' as Belle herself had suspected, before practically throwing her in the car himself and slamming the door shut.

As he made his way to the driver's seat, Belle was forced to clamber over the two large boys in the back to sit in between them. It wasn't a position she ever liked being in, surrounded by boys. She would be poked, prodded, pinched, hit, kicked. Not a word was said and the girl had done all in her power to not cry.

The trek through the zoo itself left the two boisterous eleven-year-olds running ahead taunting the animals and the girl demurely walking behind her Aunt and Uncle. Every once in a while one of them would turn back to glare at her in warning.

When it came to the gift shop, Belle was left carrying the souvenirs bought for Dudley and his friend.

When they stopped off for something to eat having found a small ice cream parlour, the boys each got a large knickerbocker glory while the senior Dursleys had standard ice cream cones. Belle had nothing, following Vernon's excuse to the server that "She's lactose intolerant." By the time a dairy-free alternative had been offered Vernon had already abandoned the counter to rejoin the group.

Belle was still being watched; she knew that. She needed only to act normal for the remainder of the journey and she might just get some of their leftovers at dinnertime.

The prospect of normalcy appeared to be going quite well until they all entered the reptile house.

The boys and both adults were crowded around the snake enclosure, with varying expressions on their faces, as Belle stood off to the side a short distance away. It appeared as though she wasn't with them at all. More appropriately, she felt eyes upon her, as though she was being studied. She looked like a street urchin; she knew that. Slowly, she turned around and locked eyes with the man, who sadly shook his head and apologetically walked away. The expression on his face told her a lot. He felt sorry for her; pitied her, though Belle herself would say she was undeserving of such compassion.

An impatient Vernon banged repeatedly on the glass, bringing Belle's focus back to the group she was an unwanted member of. "Move!" he encouraged, rudely, which was followed by an angry Dudley repeating the same habit, but with more energy and aggravation.

"That's not very nice," she said, softly, causing one pair of eyes to look at her. It seemed as though Petunia was the only one who had heard her and the anger flashing in her eyes told Belle she had no business in speaking to her son like that.

"This is boring!" Dudley complained, loudly. He stomped off with Piers, as Vernon's eyes fell upon the girl. The look he gave her sent shivers down her spine and he followed his son, his predatory eyes never leaving her form. He must have heard her too.

The two females were standing face-to-face and Belle cast her eyes downwards. She was bang out of order with her words; she knew that. She had considered running, but where would she go? In that moment she wished only to morph into an ostrich and bury her head in the sand.

"Never," Petunia seethed, finger pointing right between Belle's eyes, which prompted her to look up in fear, "speak that way again." And she headed in the same direction as the trio; like Vernon, her eyes never leaving Belle's.

Slowly, Belle approached the railing of the snake enclosure, where the previously-taunted snake rested its head sadly on a rock.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, to no one in particular, though her eyes were focused on the elongated reptile. "It's just how they are."

It was almost as if the snake could hear her. Curiously, it lifted its head and levelled its eyes with her own.

"Can you hear me?" she asked, surprised, to which the serpent nodded its head. "I've never… spoken to a snake before. Can you speak to all humans?" With a shake of its head, Belle spoke again, having read the plaque on the wall. "You're from Brazil? How can you understand me? Shouldn't you speak Portuguese?"

If it were possible for snakes to laugh, she might have sworn she was going mad, as the serpent inclined it's head forward, as though snickering.

She didn't really know what to make of the snake. It might easily have been offended by her questioning.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

The snake shook its head as if to say 'No offence taken.'

Belle felt very strange now, as she studied the boa constrictor's pattern of movement and, it appeared, _it_ was also scrutinising _her_.

"Mummy! Dad, come here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!"

Dudley had returned. Perhaps he was slightly observant after all. He must have seen the exchange. He had run over and knocked the girl off her feet, her head smacking against the wooden railing, tears meeting her eyes. She looked up at him and internally asked 'Why?'

And then, as if by magic, she saw the glass disappear and her cousin, who had his hands pressed threateningly against the previously-present glass, lost his balance and fell forward over the railing and dove into the water. He spluttered a bit, before watching in horror as the snake slithered past him and out of the enclosure, pausing in front of the girl. " _Thank you, girlie_ ," it said, and she watched it leave with an exclamation of " _Brazil, here I come!_ "

Once Dudley had regained his confidence, he stood to exit the enclosure, immediately panicking upon feeling the glass back where it had been initially. He was trapped.

* * *

The return to Privet Drive had been completely miserable. Belle knew it was all her fault. She hadn't intended for that to happen.

Dudley had done a considerable amount of whining about how the serpent had almost strangled him and how he had almost drowned. Piers had given Belle several kicks to the shins when Vernon and Petunia weren't looking.

After they had dropped Piers off, Petunia led a shivering, blanket-wrapped Dudley into the house and up the stairs for a warm bath, while Vernon dragged a rather bruised Belle straight out of the car, across the driveway, through the front door and down the hallway by her hair. The girl had tried to wrestle herself free from his grasp, but it was futile. He was so much stronger than she was.

"What happened?" he demanded, through gritted teeth, venomously looking directly into her eyes.

"I don't know," Belle sobbed, pathetically. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It was an accident. It was just there one minute and gone the next. Please, Uncle Vernon…" She trailed off, silently hoping that just once he might believe her.

"You mean to tell me it happened by _magic_?" he mocked, spittle flying everywhere in his anger. "There's no such _thing_ as _magic_!" And, with that, he yanked the cupboard door open, threw his niece in there and slammed it shut, immediately locking it and closing the vent. "No meals for a week!"

He was a man of his word where Belle was concerned. Had he not warned her that if anything happened that day she would go hungry for a week? His threats were never to be taken lightly.

Belle lay uncomfortably on the poor excuse for bedding she had landed on when her Uncle had thrown her in there. She'd hit her head again and smacked her leg on a cabinet to her left. That cabinet had been in there for the last six months and she'd yet to fully get used to its presence.

Slowly, she laid her head on the ragged, dirty towel which was intended to offer the same comfort as Dudley's fluffy pillow and wept in the darkness.


	2. The Letter

**Author's Note: Well, I just put this together in a little under two hours. Perhaps more of a filler chapter, really. I had intended for it to be longer, but there we are.**

 **I'm so appreciative of the feedback I've received so far, even after only one chapter. I'm grateful for your support. Thank you.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: The Letter**

The week that followed had gone incredibly slowly for Belle. It wasn't the first time she'd been deprived of food, but it was rare it had been for such an extended period of time.

Truth be told, she had a bad time of it with the week that followed. Nausea and migraines were imminent and it was harder than usual to get water. The seemingly-never-ending chores only added to her pain and she had come so close to vomiting all over Aunt Petunia's best dress fresh out of the washing machine. Of course, there was precious little to bring up, but she could scarcely recall having felt more ill in her life; not even with the water infection which had landed her in hospital.

By the following Sunday, Belle was finally permitted to have something of substance, rather than just the rapid swilling of water from the bathroom tap. Of course, it were only leftovers - scarcely enough for the dog, if the Dursleys had one - but it somehow managed to put a lining on her stomach; only for her to fall ill again.

As the week turned into a month, Belle slowly managed to get back on her feet somewhat. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, so she supposed, for the time being, she was somewhat safe from her relatives' ire.

She would do her best with her daily chores - the washing, gardening, cleaning the house, and such like, while her family relaxed. Petunia may have baked a cake for her beloved husband and son, while Dudley went to play with Piers or on the new computer he'd received for his birthday and Vernon read his newspaper or went fishing.

It wasn't often Vernon returned without a catch, as Belle knew too well. A family of routine, the Dursleys enjoyed fish every Saturday evening. Petunia may have cooked it herself, but she was not the type of woman who enjoyed getting her hands dirty - baking ingredients were a different thing entirely - and so Belle was left with the revolting task of gutting fish. She should have been used to it by now, having gutted her first fish at the age of seven, but frequently that task in itself had made her ill very often.

Meat and fish were two of the things Belle struggled to deal with. She often had to handle raw meat and with water bills to pay the Dursleys certainly couldn't afford to have her waste it. As such, this chore had frequently left Belle with a bad case of salmonella. It was a wonder the child was still alive.

Belle hoped one day would come where she might not have to live in such conditions anymore; where she could simply be loved. Love was all she wanted, really, but she didn't have a clue what love really was. Neither did she truly understand kindness. The two words were almost alien to her, but she did dream about them.

One morning, while tearing up the weeds in the garden - bare-handed - her Aunt had called her from the kitchen. Such demands were frequently uttered and often meant the post had arrived.

Standing, she wiped her grubby hands on the baggy jumper which was close to slipping from her shoulders and made her way through the back door, wiping her bare feet on the coarse mat and made her way to the end of the hallway where the post lay on the floor.

Taking the pile in hand, she slowly flipped through the pile in preparation of handing them to their intended recipients. Two bills, two flyers, a circular, eight business cards, three sample sachets of condiments and a postcard from from her Uncle's sister later and she saw something that stood out more than anything else. Not only did the thick yellowing paper and green ink look out of place among the flimsy paper and envelopes, it was also addressed to her.

"Miss B. Potter," she whispered to herself.

Stranger still was that it had more than just her address on it; it also listed the cupboard she slept in as her place of residence. Tentatively, she tucked it down the front of her jumper, hoping the elastic waistband might prevent it from slipping out beneath her, as she took the contents into the living room, where Vernon sat on the sofa.

"For you, Uncle Vernon," she said, softly, head bowed down. She'd had courtesy drilled into her so often over the years that she sounded almost robotic these days.

As she turned to continue her work in the garden, she realised that the placement of her own letter hadn't been the best of ideas. She felt it slip from under her jumper and onto the floor below.

Of course, as soon as she had felt it, her cousin had also seen it. Bending down to retrieve it, Dudley bolted from his place at the computer, and immediately seized it, waving it in the air, as though he'd won Willy Wonka's first golden ticket. "Dad, look!" he exclaimed. "Belle's got a letter!"

Petunia must have heard her son, as she entered the room before Belle could barely blink.

"Please give it back," the messy-haired girl begged, almost inaudibly. "Please. It's mine; it has my name on it…" She trailed off. She knew it would get her nowhere and she was quite surprised that her use of the word 'mine' didn't prompt her Aunt to grab her by the ear and drag her through the hallway, or for her Uncle to remove his belt.

"It's yours?" Vernon mocked. "Who'd be writing to you?"

It was at that moment, he looked to the letter in his hand. The eyes of his wife and son also landed on the curious envelope, and the two adults exchanged worried glances.

Belle could see the fear in their eyes and the anger that followed when they both looked to her in synchronisation. Ever-so-slowly, she backed away toward the living room door. She knew she was in for it.

Bolting through the door, Vernon was already on his feet and, demanding answers, he caught up with her soon enough, as he dragged her away from the front door she was so desperately trying to open. It was locked. Just as she reached for the latch, he furiously pulled her arm around her back. Grabbing her other arm, he did the same and dragged the girl, who was attempting to use her toes to perform the task instead, upstairs.

Her desperate cries for mercy were ignored, as were her screams of pain that followed.

"Who have you been writing to?" he yelled, his face now as red as a tomato.

It was a wonder Belle could write at all - or read. If it wasn't an offence to prevent her from attending school, she would never have learned either.

"Nobody," she wailed, pathetically. She watched him whip his belt off and made another attempt to get away, though he yanked her straight back by the arm, pulled the oversized jumper off her, turned her around and lay several lashings on her back. "No, please," she sobbed. "I don't understand."

"Stop crying, you heinous little brat!" he yelled, as he planted the buckle against her ribcage once more. "You think we're gonna let you go there?"

Go where? She didn't know who had sent that letter, where they sent it from or what they wanted.

"We give you a roof over your head, food off our plates and this is how you repay us? With ingratitude? Conversing with those freaks?" His last two words were filled with utter venom and Belle might have sworn she heard him almost gag with it. Another hit and a pause. Belle couldn't speak. "Answer me, girl!"

Her lack of response served only to prompt another hit, before he threw the ragged dirty sweater at her, which she put on as fast as she was able, shaking with pain and confusion.

Roughly, he turned her to face him. "Now, get back in that garden," he seethed, teeth clenched. With a frightened sob, she ran from the room and scrambled to get to her destination as fast as she was able.

In her sheer terror, she fell head-first down the stairs.

The neighbours would never hear a peep out of the Dursleys. They had soundproof walls. No one would suspect what truly went on behind closed doors, for their portrayal of normalcy was so utterly convincing.


	3. A Most Gentle Giant

**Chapter Three: A Most Gentle Giant**

That hadn't be the only letter to arrive at Privet Drive, of course. An almost incomprehensible number of others had followed after the first had been ignored.

Vernon had burned many of them, or torn them up, before frustration had got the better of him and he went so far as to nail up the letterbox. That, in itself, had seemed a good idea until they began flying through open windows. On several occasions they had hit Vernon in the face, or landed in Dudley's dinner or precariously placed on the cutlery as he went to take a bite.

Letters had even invaded Petunia's privacy. It was hardly enough that she had found three in her apron pocket, but, not too soon after, they began popping out of her own underwear drawer.

Belle wasn't exactly free from the consistent arrival of aggressive post either - ' _The Great Bombardment of '91_ ,' Vernon had dubbed it. Belle would find letters in new packs of scouring pads when she came to clean the bathroom. She had discovered a letter attached to the root of every dead plant she pulled from the flower bed, had letters dropping on her head when she scrubbed the kitchen floor and even found them on the ragged mattress in her cupboard. The Dursleys were vigilant - paranoid, even - and poor Belle hadn't the chance to open a single letter. One or both adults were following her every move, snatching letters left, right and centre and destroying them. She had eventually reached the point where she just handed them to her Uncle.

Perhaps the most unnerving thing was the sheer number of owls which had swarmed around the house on more than one occasion. These had been dropping letters on the doormat and in the guttering, as Vernon found out one morning on his way to work when a squirrel scurried across the drainpipe and dislodged one, which fell and brushed his nose before landing at his feet.

By the end of that same week, on a Sunday no less, the sender's persistence tried Vernon's patience one too many times, as the slat of wood over the letterbox burst off, and an endless slew of the wretched things plagued his home.

Dudley had jumped on his mother's lap in fright, as they both screamed in terror.

Belle herself merely stood stock-still, unbelieving of the ultimate event which had encouraged her Uncle to abandon his home and take the four of them to a shabby, draughty hut on a rock in the sea. Of all the places they could have gone and he chose a place such as that. Well, at least, following the hotel incident, at which no fewer than a hundred letters had arrived at the front desk. The hut on the rock was a last resort and he was so convinced they'd never find the family there; specifically Belle herself. It was the girl they wanted to speak to and Vernon was going to make sure they had no chance of contacting her.

* * *

It was almost midnight and as the Dursleys slept - in remarkable comfort given the circumstances - Belle was lying on her stomach on the dusty floor. (She could hardly lie any other way; her back was incredibly sore from her Uncle's belt.) In fact, the state of the floor was remarkably clean when compared with the girl herself. She often wondered what a bath felt like; what it would mean to feel fresh and clean. Would her hair be tameable given the chance to properly wash it, without simply giving it a quick rinse in the downstairs sink? She considered that such an opportunity would put her at a great advantage and would give her wonderful privilege over those less fortunate than herself, before realising that it was a purely vain, selfish thought.

Sighing, she brought herself back to reality, a rather cruel state, focusing on the floor in front of her where she had drawn herself a birthday cake; perhaps the only birthday cake she was ever likely to get. Lazily, she drew candles in the dirt - eleven in total - and, with the sound of Dudley's digital watch, which had been one of the many birthday presents he'd received a little over a month earlier, whispered to herself. "Make a wish, Belle," she said, sadly, pausing a moment before blowing the dust from the top of her 'cake.'

No sooner had she performed this action that there was a loud thud at the door of the shack. The first pound itself was more than enough to rival the crashes of thunder from outside and certainly woke a loudly-snoring Dudley, who bolted from the sofa and backed himself into the corner. Belle herself had got to her feet and scrambled behind a wall, though just why she had was a mystery. If anyone was to face an intruder, the Dursleys would make sure that it would be her. Of course, she had been wrong before, and a terrified Petunia clung to her husband who was brandishing a rifle.

The banging on the door became louder and louder, as though the intruder's fury could blow the door off its hinges… not quite so surprisingly it did, and the figure of what might only be described as a giant was illuminated by the lightning. Ducking under the lintel, the giant strode in and made himself known.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, apologetically, as he bent down to pick the door up off the floor and return it to its frame.

Belle slowly turned around, for the most part still hidden by the wall, and allowed her eyes to examine the large man who stood in the centre of the room. He may have looked intimidating with regards to his stature, but his face wasn't quite so threatening.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!" Vernon, it was clear, was scared and, evidently not wanting the other man to feel superior, masked his fear with aggression - something Belle herself knew all too well. (She became exceedingly uncomfortable whenever anybody raised their voice, but she was, perhaps, most scared of her Uncle Vernon.)

The giant, it appeared, was in no way intimidated by Vernon's anger, as he turned his focus to the gun-toting whale of a man and his horse-faced wife, who gasped in fright.

"Dry up, Dursley, yeh great prune!" he said, as he took hold of the barrel with one hand and bent it towards the sky.

In Vernon's failed attempt at remaining level-headed in such a situation, he unconsciously pulled the trigger and blew a hole in the ceiling, which, in turn, had formed another in the ceiling above the first, and the rain from outside was now dribbling through the shack. Petunia moved out of the way, yelping in surprise at the sensation of the cold rain hitting her bare arm.

The giant, meanwhile, had abandoned the adults on the stairs and looked to the right corner of the room, where a petrified Dudley was almost sitting on the virtually non-existent windowsill, attempting to get as far away from the man as possible without getting wet.

"Good grief," the man chuckled, taking in the frame of the boy before him. "Too many pies, eh? Know how that feels." With that he patted his rather rotund belly, which could have given Vernon a run for his money.

The giant glanced around the hut from where he stood. "Where's Belle?" he questioned. There was nothing intimidating in the man's voice.

Perhaps going against her better judgment, Belle slowly made her way from the shadows to the man himself. "I'm here," she announced, in a small voice.

"Oh, look at you," the man said, fondly. "Yeh got yer mother's eyes." Nobody had ever said spoken such nice words to the messy-haired girl, and she fought back tears at his kindness, as he continued. "Oh, got somethin' for yeh." Delving into one of the many pockets of his coat, Belle stepped back in fright. He could have pulled anything out of there. She needn't have worried, however, for it were only a white box. Still, that box could have had anything inside it. The man offered it to the girl who now had her injured back pressed against the wall, the cold stone surprisingly soothing on her wounds. "'Ey, it won't 'urt yeh," he said, in a friendly tone.

Slowly, she pulled herself away from the wall and towards the man once more, gingerly taking the box from his hand and, grimacing at what she may have found in there, opened it with great care.

To her astonishment, the contents didn't appear dangerous. Nothing had jumped out on her and she was thankful there were no nasty bugs in there. In fact, the complete opposite. It was a cake. A cake, admittedly not having had the best icing job done on it and if Petunia could have seen it she'd have surely scoffed at the attempt, and misspelled - 'HAPEE BIRTHDAY BEL' written in green on a pink background.

She'd never had a cake before and tears of both surprise and gratitude met her eyes. "T-T-Thank you," she said, quietly.

The man himself didn't appear to have truly acknowledged the dark-haired girl's awkwardness. "Not ev'ry day yer young girlie turns eleven now, is it, eh?" he smiled.

Of course she had no clue who this man was, but what she'd seen of him so far she rather liked. In that moment she had decided to call him 'The Gentle Giant.'

As Gentle Giant, took a seat on the sofa Dudley had recently vacated, he pulled an umbrella from one of his many pockets, aimed it at the fireplace and, quicker than Belle could blink, that part of the room was filled with light and crackling heat.

Slowly, Belle approached the visitor, still somewhat keeping her distance from him. "I, er… I…" she stammered. What was she to say to this man? She didn't want to appear rude. "I-I-If you don't mind my asking… who are you?"

The man now had a poker with a sausage on the end of it and was happily toasting it before the fire. His eyes never met Belle's. "Rubeus Hagrid," he introduced. "Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." At the mention of his title, he appeared quite proud. "Of course, yeh'll know all about Hogwarts." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Sir. No." Belle shook her head, sadly.

"No?" Gentle Giant repeated, somewhat confused. "Blimey, Belle, did yeh never 'ear where yer Mum an' Dad learned it all?"

Belle was just as confused as he was. "Learnt what?" she asked, timidly, her eyes darting between the man and her Aunt and Uncle on the stairs.

Gentle Giant, it appeared, seemed rather excited to be announcing the very thing he said yes. "Yer a witch, Belle."

Belle's eyes went wide at the insult and she slowly backed away, placing the cake he'd given her on a rickety table off to one side of the room. He was calling her names now too; and he'd been so nice.

"T-That's not a very nice thing to say," she said, quietly.

"It's true," he said. "Yeh Mum was one too, an' yer Dad was a wizard. Great students, they were, great students. An' talented to boot."

Belle's sad eyes met those of her Aunt on the other side of the room. "Is it true?" she asked, pitifully.

The woman had her arms crossed and a deep scowl on her face. " _True_?" she scoffed, threateningly making her way across the shack. "Of course it's _true_. Well, how could you _not_ be? _Just like her_! My _perfect_ sister being who she was," she spat, a spiteful air of envy evident in her voice. "My mother and father were so _proud_ the day she got her letter. Yes. We have a witch in the family. Isn't it wonderful? I was the _only_ one to see her for what she was - _a freak_! And then there was _that boy_ , wasn't there? That _snivelling, greasy little brat_ from down the street took her away from me. He might just as well have been homeless from the _state_ of him - and no one _ever_ saw his parents. He was a _freak_ too, wasn't he? He _corrupted_ her. Oh, and then Lily went off to that _freak school_ with him, didn't she, and met that _Potter_!" She rattled her hatred off with such deliberation. Belle couldn't comprehend how her Aunt could have possibly hated her sister so much; she'd have given anything to have a sister. "And then she had _you_ ," she continued, "and I _knew_ you would be the same - just as _strange_ , just as _abnormal_. And then, if you please, she went and got herself _blown up_ and we got landed with _you_ \- _another one_!"

"B-Blown up?" Belle whispered, tears slowly falling from her eyes, so upset by her Aunt's tirade. "But… but you said they were alcoholics… that they'd died in a car crash." That was neither a statement nor an accusation, but a question; a plea for the truth.

The uninvited houseguest appeared to have tuned out at the bitter woman's rant, though the mere mention of the words 'alcoholics' and 'car crash' appear to have set him off.

"Alcoholics? Car crash? A car crash killed Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal!" Gentle Giant had turned slightly red with anger at the lies spread about his late friends and Belle made an attempt to shrink into the shadows.

"She will _not_ be going to that school," Vernon sneered, eyes on his niece.

"Oh, an' I suppose a great muggle like yerself's gonna stop 'er, are yeh?" the man mocked. "This child's 'ad 'er name down for Hogwarts ever since she were born. She'll be goin' to the _finest_ school of witchcraft an' wizardry in the world _and_ will be under the care of the greatest 'eadmaster Hogwarts 'as ever seen - Albus Dumbledore." His determined words faded at the end, as his evident admiration for the wizard he had just mentioned took over.

Vernon, his patience wearing thin, though no more than usual, spoke once more with great irritation. "I will _not_ pay for some _crackpot old fool_ to teach her _magic tricks_!"

The giant appeared well and truly threatening to Belle with his next action, as he prodded his umbrella in her Uncle's general direction. " _Never_ insult Albus Dumbledore in front of _me_." His voice at least was quiet, but she had frequently been on the receiving end of something similar.

As silence filled the hut, it appeared as though the giant had heard something the others hadn't. Turning his attention to where the window was, there was Dudley, chomping away at the birthday cake he had brought for Belle. Clearly the boy had snuck it off the table while everyone was distracted and was trying to be discrete in his greed, but Dudley, like his father, was never one for discretion. Without a word, the giant aimed his umbrella at the boy's posterior and, as if by magic - it _was_ magic - a pig's tail erupted through the seat of his pyjamas.

All three Dursleys entered panic mode, while Belle stood agape, hardly believing what had just happened. Slowly, her eyes turned to the man before her. There was a soft guilty smile on his face. "Magic _is_ real?" she confirmed, her eyes tentatively looking up at him.

"'Course it is," he replied. "Actually, I, er… I'd appreciate it if yeh didn't tell anyone 'bout this, Belle. Strictly speakin' I'm not allowed to do magic." That said, he searched his many pockets and pulled an envelope out, offering it to the girl before him. She was apprehensive in taking it, as she timidly looked to where Vernon and Petunia were. She half-expected them to snatch it out of her hand and tear it up again, or throw it on the fire. They were, however, focused on Dudley and the latest accessory he'd acquired: the curly pink thing.

Slowly, she took the letter from Hagrid and gently opened it, pulling out two thick sheets of yellowing paper; the same as the envelope. As she read through them, Hagrid gently pushed her forward with his large hands - not noticing her wince from the sensation - and ushered her towards the door, before picking up the poker which had been dangling on the edge of the moth-eaten settee. "Sausage?" he offered, thrusting the poker in her line of sight. She stopped dead. He had a weapon at his disposal; he could use it to trick her - offer her food and impale her instead. When she didn't take it he spoke again. "Go on. It won't 'urt yeh. It's just a sausage."

With a heavy breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, she cautiously reached out her hand to pluck it from the end. The man didn't stab her. "T-Thank you," she said, quietly, as she nibbled on the sausage, expecting it to be snatched from her grasp.

"Oh, bit behind schedule," he said, examining a pocket watch. "Best be off." As he returned the watch to his pocket, he pulled the door from its hinges and dropped it to the floor with a loud thud, causing dust to fly in the surrounding area. When she didn't move from her spot, he spoke again. "Unless yeh'd rather stay, o' course?" Inclining his head, he ducked under the lintel once more and exited into the pouring rain.

With a last glance at her relatives, who were still ranting, raving and panicking over Dudley's new tail, paying absolutely no attention to anything else, Belle followed the giant.

Hearing her approaching, Hagrid turned to greet her once more. "Decided to come, 'ave yeh? In yeh get," he said, as he led her to a small rowing boat, hardly big enough for the giant alone, let alone with Belle's additional presence. Admittedly, Belle herself didn't take up a great deal of room, but she had to do a fair amount of dodging with regards to Hagrid's feet. Try as he might, he struggled to fit, and Belle attempted to make it easier for the man and pulled her knees up to her chin - in fact, almost up her own nostrils - so he may have stood a chance.

The two were rather wet by this point and Hagrid opened his pink umbrella, handing it over to Belle. Belle was already drenched, she hardly had real use of it. "Excuse me, Sir," she said, hoping she was permitted to speak, "I think you need this more than I do." She handed it back.

"Nonsense!" he replied. "What use 'ave I got fer a brolly tryin' to row this thing?"

He did have a point, Belle noted to herself. He could hardly row to shore and keep himself dry simultaneously. "Well," she paused. "Please, Sir, I don't have a beard."

Hagrid looked rather baffled, before examining his rather prominent excess of facial hair, which was soaked. He'd have to wring that out later. "Tell yeh what," he suggested, after a moment's thought. He took his large coat off and draped it over the young girl.

Belle realised this would require teamwork. Shuffling onto her belly, she pulled Hagrid's coat over the length of her body and held the pink parasol as high above Hagrid's head as she was able, so that the man might have had some semblance of comfort. At least they'd both be dry.

As Hagrid began to row from No-Man's Land to shore, Belle began to worry. There had only been one boat. "Sir, what about my family? How are they going to get out?"

"Oh, they'll be fine. Don't yeh be worryin' 'bout them."


End file.
